with a busted bed frame, we’ve been sleeping all over the house. replacement is coming in today. the broken bed had been slightly broken during a move, and broke completely, eventually, sometime in the night when we were too deep asleep to notice anything.

i’ve been sleeping on the couch, then.

i’m rough around the edges, exhausted, and too tired to write this morning.

so, i’m going to do it anyway. the difference, i guess, between a professional writer and an amateur, beyond the money, is that being responsible about one’s career requires writing even when one has been having bad dreams for weeks, and sleeping on couches, and waking up exhausted, dehydrated, hot. all i want to do is sit in a cool bath and listen to audio books and instead i am here.

books don’t write themselves.

i want to start a litmag called “modern economy”. it would have theme issues. it would be genre-agnostic. i can’t start one unless i make more money writing, so i have to go write.